Back Then
by ilovecats86
Summary: Back stories to Kibaftw and my interpretations of the KH characters ... aka the personalities and stories they have gotten through our roleplays. Rated for safety, I think, though it does brush on some dangerous topics.


_This is something that Kiba (that's Kibaftw for a full name) and I wrote together. Well, kinda. We were roleplaying, and this will be going on our joint account eventually … at some point that we have one. Now, I say "kinda" because Kiba told me to do a back-story for Axel – on the fly. So she lay and listened over the phone for about twenty minutes while I spun a story out of NOWHERE that she loved. And I loved it too, for the record. So then, a week or so later, I began to write up the rough draft in my classes. That's right, lined paper, pencil, sentences written literally in fragments as listening to teachers and doing work. A month and a half later, I finish typing it, and send to Kiba. Who ignores it for a while, edits it, sends it back, I re-edit it and point out different problems, send AGAIN and … two months later says "I think it was fine as it was." I spazzed at her, then went back and eliminated the anomalies and chose my own since she wouldn't look at it. Way too long A/N …_

_Anyway, it may be a bit OOC, but hopefully not too badly._

_Warnings: boy/boy themes, abuse, swearing_

_===0===_

Huh? My past? Why would you want to know that?! It's not exactly pretty. Fine, you really wanna know?

--0--

My name is Axel. Before I was a Nobody, my name was Alex. Back when I was five, my mom left because my dad was about as abusive as you can get. So after she left, our house was 'home' to my dad, my brother Reno, and me. Oh yes, my brother. Reno had been fourteen when Mom left.

I remember that night. Dad had gotten a little drunker than usual, and Mom had her bags packed. She dead panned to him, "I'm leaving you." Of course, it led to a fight. Mom never yelled back, never raised her hand, nothing. She had a face set in stone and cold eyes, eyes that would not budge in their decision.

Dad didn't like that. He yelled, absolutely livid, "Don't you walk away from me, you fucking whore!" She ignored him, continuing to make her way to the door. Plates flew at her, shattering on the wall next to her, and still she didn't flinch. She was too infuriated, showing it in her rigid resolve and attitude, and had no room for fear. He continued to throw things at her, anything he could, but it did no good in stopping her.

He turned on us. His eyes flashed dangerously, his mind not at all lucid from either the rage or the alcohol; he locked on me – me and my mother's eyes. "You," he growled, and started toward me, hell-bent on murder. He began to strike me – hard. I whimpered, and cried for him to stop, which only made him more enraged, and made him strike harder.

Reno managed to get between us, shielding me from him. With a new target, my father abused my brother, right in front of me. He attacked just as furiously the one stopping him from attacking the one most resembling the woman his anger was directed at. By this time, I was curled in a terrified ball, and my attention was locked in horrified fascination on the scene in front of me. Later, I learned that Reno had been defending himself much more than it looked like, but that didn't stop the fact that he was an absolute mess by the time our father had finished with him and passed out from "strenuous actions" and alcohol. Reno picked himself up and checked me over, then began to dress the wounds Dad had inflicted.

Reno protected me from Dad for three years, teaching me how to defend myself, how to cook, and overall sheltering me from Dad. Neither of us could wait until his eighteenth birthday, when we would both be out from the death cage he put us in.

Dad decided to take a road trip to Nevada. Reno, ironically enough, was a stop we stayed at in our trip. I was eight, Reno was seventeen – his birthday was in a few days. While I was wandering around, mostly getting away from the camp where Dad was on a tirade, I froze when I heard angry warning voices shout at me. Looking around, I saw four or five grown men hollering quick, angry Spanish at me. Slowly backing away, heart clenching in fear, I stopped breathing when they pulled large guns, which they preceded to fire. I tripped backwards and hunched, terrified as bullets pelted the rock walls cradling me. I heard a cry, and the shots stopped. Peeking up from behind my knees, I saw Reno standing between me and them, eyes wide with a kind of shock – as red blooms spread through his shirt.

The wails of police sirens started to approach, causing the gunmen to flee.

Reno was still standing, albeit a bit shaky. The shocked expression had changed to one of a sorry grin before he fell. I rushed over, terrified. Reno looked up at me, apologetic smile still in place. "Alex … sorry. I think … you'll have to stand Dad a bit longer…. Let's meet again, in the next life."

Numbly, I nodded. "I … I'll be waiting …"

Reno chuckled with his last breaths, and finally, the police, sirens having been growing, arrived. They pulled me away, checking his vital signs. They rushed him into an ambulance and me into a police car. By this time, I was in shock so bad, I didn't struggle.

It had already been too late for Reno. Two days before his eighteenth birthday, Reno had died in Reno. The irony was almost sickening, and the memories were exactly so. Dad blamed me, as did I. Dad's drinking progressed for the worse, and he beat me more often. I quickly learned to guard the most vulnerable parts of my body, lay still, and wait for him to lose interest, then, afterwards, clean up, and hide any marks left behind. I heard other kids saying how they hated their parents, so I figured it was completely normal, and you just didn't talk about specifics. But they all would group together, all laugh with each other. I liked the idea of being alone. Myde didn't like the idea of me being alone too much, and sauntered up to me while I was in a corner.

Even back then, I had a passion for fire. I was trying to draw flames, and when the golden-haired boy approached, I froze a bit. To make a long, awkward, and slightly (physically) painful story short, I was dragged into a group of people and forced to be sociable by Myde.

At first, I remember always being keenly aware of just how awkward I was, especially around Myde himself. He was energetic, enthusiastic, optimistic, and the epitome of perfection in my eyes. And he wanted to be around ME. Clumsy, lanky, awkward me. His voice was always clear and self-assured, a jarring contrast to my frequent stutter, which was prone to becoming more prominent around him. I also remember that, around him, my face was always dusted with at least a faint heat. A few days of exposure, however, I definitely noticed I liked when Myde was around, even if my insecurity and awkwardness was pronounced next to grace and confidence. Myde never made fun of me for being a klutz, and acted like he didn't know when I messed up. It was starting to be alright if I screwed up, I wouldn't be judged for it, and so life was better in general with Myde there.

He started to have me come over to his house occasionally after school. That's when and where I learned that parents don't always hit their kids – then I started going over to Zack's house, and Cloud's, Yuna's … Myde's home wasn't an exception, it was the _norm_. I became extremely self-conscious about that one aspect in my life, something I hadn't _known_ to be aware of before. Dad probably beat me because I was constantly doing something bad. Other times I was humiliated I let something like this happen to me. Either way, I kept it a secret – they didn't have to know I was either a terrible person, or otherwise a coward. Once or twice I thought of fighting back – a short-lived thought. No one ever came over to where I lived, and no one asked why.

Then Myde and his family came over to decorate for a surprise-party they were throwing me. I, of course, wasn't home when they arrived … but Dad was. Dad was apparently slumped drunk across the table. Long story short, they found out what a "good day" for Dad was. All he did was swear to shame a sailor and threaten up a storm, throwing dishes and vases. Panicked, worried voices greeted my ear when I answered my cell. I had the story relayed to me by a confused, worried Myde, concerned something was very, very wrong. Hearing the story, I paled, and did a good show of acting confused and scared from sudden change. From then on, I acted as though the conditions were slowly _deteriorating_, even though I never reported it to be anywhere close to as bad as things actually were.

Dad started to slack off doing the little work he DID have. Even though I already had a part-time job, now I needed to pay for almost everything. I discreetly stopped eating lunch. More and more I distanced myself from Myde, since I didn't want him to know. I saw him starting to hurt with how I now pushed him away when before I had slightly, timidly, and oh so slowly and full of fear, pulled him closer. I slowly became increasingly cynical and pessimistic. I grew bitter on life for keeping me trapped tight in this position, between hurting Myde by not telling him and hurting him oh so much more by telling him and him knowing there was nothing he could do. I wished death on everything and anything when I got to thinking about it.

One such afternoon, pissed from long hours of double-shifts and the mistake of thinking about my life, I opened the door, glaring. I glanced up as Dad started yelling, belligerent as usual. Scoffing, I ignored him and stalked toward my room. I darkly concluded I should hang out with some friends rather than come home after work, even if I was becoming a little scarcer. I was snapped from my brooding by a punch on my cheek. Turning, I scowled to find my father, absolutely furious. "Don't you EVER walk away from me! EVER!" He accented every stress with a violent shake of my shoulders.

Before coming home that day, an annoyingly long series of painful and, well, annoying events had taken place. I'd inadvertently hurt Myde much more today, come out on the worse end of a fight, failed two tests, and been laid-off my job. _After _working the shift. Somehow, I wasn't in the most tolerant of moods.

Glaring poison, I caught his wrist before he struck again, and retaliated by striking his jaw. I saw his face briefly flash to shock before contorting into anger again, much stronger than before, but I didn't care. Deflecting another blow, I yelled at him. I forget what I yelled, but soon we were in a shouting match, loud enough to be heard for blocks. It ended with him hollering not to walk away, me ignoring him, taking a few random things and leaving.

Afterward, I know I couldn't go back to that place. Thus began my life on the streets, along with all sorts of new fun. I had thought that my father wouldn't give enough of a shit about me to tell anyone, but I was mistaken. I couldn't be anywhere near a police officer, or they'd haul me right back. Which also meant that going to school was out of the question, since the school would turn me in as a runaway. Well isn't that wonderful? I can't trust the schools or police anymore. Probably would never see Myde again … also, food and shelter? Whatever you could lie, cheat, borrow and steal was what you got.

For about two months I was solo on the streets before a particular pack of street-rats offered me a spot. Tired of being literally on my own for my well-being, I accepted. Firebugs, we were called, and our arch-rivals were the Shadow Sliders. The Firebugs were the ones who gave me my eye tattoos – exactly like the ones Reno had had. Three years on the streets, I think, before I ditched my gang while in the middle of a brawl. Wandering, I found an alley full of solid, black things I had thought were shadows. Grim curiosity of what black cats or dogs were there, I entered it. I saw they really _were_ solid shadows, and with grim satisfaction, I watched them starting to claw. The more they clawed, the more the grim satisfaction peaked, but also despair and remorse for this being the end. They neared my heart, tears streaming forth, and a sudden remembrance of Myde. I had thought I had forgotten him, since I hadn't though of him for … who knows how long … but I think two years. And now suddenly, I had to live, I NEEDED to be there for him, there _with_ him …

I felt my heart ripped out as an anguished cry rushed from my throat. I was sure I had died with the bright white light and sudden nothingness. Looking around, I felt … hollow. I didn't recognize this place, but I wasn't scared, or even in pain or sorrow to acknowledge what had just happened. I only felt apathetic. With dull, confused but uncaring boredom, I scanned the new scenery. Snowy, cold, detestable … I seemed to me much like an elevated mountain top. I didn't like it. I unfeelingly watched a dark hole materialize from thin air, producing a guy with black hair streaked with silver pulled back in a ponytail stepping through. His face had two obvious scars and an eye patch.

Later I would learn that where I had been was in the Land of Dragons, at the peak of the mountain, and my recruiter was Xigbar.

He took me back to Castle Oblivion, where the Superior gave me my new name as well as the leather black coat like the one Xigbar and he were wearing. Finally I got a chance to look at myself after getting cleaned up a bit. The first thing I noticed was that although my hair had always been noticeably _red_, it was even brighter now. I _hadn't even thought that was possible_. About a five shades or so brighter than it had been, than Reno's had been, meaning we would have now had identical hair colors. It also seemed to be a little less tame, resembling the element I had been so attracted to, which I now learned I had control over. My eye tattoos, previously marking off to the sides and hooking up, now had warped to upside-down teardrops below my eyes. I would soon learn they changed from time to time between red, purple, and sometimes black, but never too noticeably. A little closer inspection showed that my skin was a few shades paler.

Over the next few weeks, I learned the Superior's method of naming. The Somebody's name, add an x, and scramble. That meant that Ansem was Xemnas, Braig was Xigbar, Dilan was Xaldin, Even was Vexen, and so on. He broke with tradition for my name, since it already had an x in it, so skipped straight to the anagramming. This was mildly interesting.

A month or so after I was recruited, the whole castle was buzzing about some new sucker who had also lost his heart. All anyone really knew was that it was a guy from Hollow Bastion again, but speculations ran wild.

Ya know, it's an interesting thing to watch people without hearts buzzing excitedly. I was perhaps a bit curious, but still in severe apathy. Thus, I ignored it.

A day or two later, I saw an unfamiliar boy just standing at the wall. Dirty blond hair, styled in a strange 'mullet-hawk,' (his words, not mine) aqua green-blue eyes … Hm.

Those eyes widened in slight surprise and innocent _curiosity_, studying me with traces of slight wonder.

"So, Newbie, what's your name?" I asked dully. It was a sort of game in Oblivion – try to puzzle out what a Nobody's name as a Somebody was. Also, I should point out – when you become a Nobody, you basically forget your Somebody life. Later you can have repressed memories awoken … usually by Namine or Zexion, and they aren't usually _trying_. I didn't remember mine then, not even my name, so the Nobodies had fun

I froze. Myde … that name was familiar… A surge of memory coursed through me, and, hollowly, like looking through an old, discolored window, or viewing the world with slightly clouded eyes, I remembered that _Alex_ had known a Myde once. Hair styled a bit different and a pure sunshine blond, but, undoubtedly, there was a strong resemblance in this hazy memory of Myde and the Nobody before me. More stirring and weird sensations in my chest squirmed through. Watching Demyx, I'd gone silent, making him cock his head to the side. Soon, the stirring stopped. A little more conversation and I trying to solve the riddle even I didn't know.

The new kid, however, seemed to not even really remember what his name is _now_. He must be straight from Xemnas's office then. Concentrating, he eventually answered, "Umm … Demyx."

I tucked that in the back of my mind to solve later. "Know your element yet?"

"… I think water …" he seemed shifty, like he was almost scared, and would rather be doing something else with someone else, anywhere else. Oh well, poor sucker. That was just about the only entertainment for me at the time. My mind idly turned his name over a few times. Demyx minus the x equals Demy. Edym, Edmy, Dyme, Yedm, Myde …

I learned that Demyx loved music, and the stirring started again. Around then, I realized that those were heart traces reawakening. Hearts strong enough to make a human-like Nobody would retain bits of hearts – thin shells or shadows, fragmented pieces …

But I wasn't really Alex. I was Axel. This wasn't Myde, it was Demyx; that's just the way things are. I was attached through old connections, connections pulled almost through mirrors, and I couldn't completely see this person as Myde. Demyx was Demyx, or Demy as I found myself calling him. We began to get closer to each other, and were easily best friends. Demyx still couldn't figure my name, since I was the hardest puzzle of all. Everyone kept trying to take out the x, trying Ale, Lea, Ela, Ael … they weren't anywhere close. Eventually they experimented WITH the x – Zexion was the first to come up with that, and the first to solve it too, by the way.

Eventually, after much poking and prodding from Demyx on what was on my mind, I shared my hearts theory with him. (My theory on hearts, that is, not a theory of my heart. Though, I suppose…it is…a theory of my heart.) The others had half-and-half views, but never voiced them. Demyx was the first I told mine to, and he took it to, well, to heart. Demy flat-out claimed we DID have hearts. Around then, Demyx started to have Myde's heart recognizing Alex, and so he became more attached to ME, Axel. Shadows and memories seeking the originals I guess.

Well, everything was good and sweet for a while, other than not having a full heart for a while. Yeah, well, that didn't last. Turns out? I'm a monster just like my dear father! That personality on top of trauma, such as, oh, I don't know, _having a heart ripped from your body_, and it's not a good combination. Demyx would do or say some stupid little thing, and wouldn't stop when I told him to and it would work me easily into a blind rage. With fire. He was just teasing, only having innocent, light-hearted fun; there's no excuse for beating him to a bloody, broken mess. I didn't even know I was doing it, but when I suddenly snapped out of it mid-punch, I saw a burned, bleeding Demyx before me. I panicked, got him to the bathroom and started patching him back up as best I could. At one point, I had to stitch him with needle and thread – I must have used chakrams at some point. All the while I shakily told him everything would be alright – more to soothe myself than him, I think.

For a few days, I wasn't eating or sleeping, even though I made sure _Demyx_ was. Five days, and he was a hundred percent again, I made sure of it. Only _then_ did I let him get up and did I eat for myself – not that Demyx knew that. I had hoped this would never happen again, and that it was a one-time fling, therefore done with now.

It wasn't a one-time thing – this happened over and over again. My greatest hope and my worst fear was that Demyx would leave. I didn't mean to, but I kept hurting him, and I was afraid I would _kill_ him. A few times I begged him to leave, to forget me, to move on, but he just smiled softly, pet my hair, and wiped my tears, holding me to his chest, even though _he_ was the one who was injured. By this time, even Larxene had joined the Organization. (Her name used to be Arelen (that's Ar-LEEN), for those curious.)

Demyx still hasn't left. There's good news though: my explosions have been getting less frequent. Maybe it's the therapy, but Luxord's crazy. He thinks I'm violent because of my father. The truth is I'm violent because I'm a terrible being, and that's the end of the story.

Who knows though? Maybe Demyx and I can be happy, the way Myde and Alex so wanted to be. We _know_ our Somebody lives, even if it's like looking through a very dirty, hazy window, since Zexion accidentally stirred up our memories. There's a story for another day. There are a few parts that still hit close to home though – like Reno, and random snatches of Dad beating me … and a few seconds at a time, parts of the street And, of course, pyromania.

But we're still more or less separate beings, even if we have obligations to ourselves and them. One of those is to be happy, and I think – and hope – to make good to that one.


End file.
